on together. Directly he comes back I'll
introduce you to each other."

Catherine said no more. From that time she devoted herself more than
ever to her mother, who now, under the influence of sorrow, allowed her
nature to come to its full flower. Abandoning the pleasures of society,
which had long wearied her, she gave herself up to services, charities
and good works in the poor parts of London. She carried Catherine with
her on many of her expeditions, and there can be no doubt that her
fervour and curious exaltation had a marked effect upon the girl.
Catherine had always been highly susceptible to influence, but she had
been during most of her life attacked perpetually by two absolutely
opposite influences. Now one of these, her father's, was removed from
her. She came more than ever before under her mother's domination. For
Mark, when he was not "William Foster," was simply a high-spirited and
happy youth, full of energy and of apparently normal desires and
intentions. He had that sort of genius which can be long asleep in the
dark, while its possessor dances, like a mote, in sunshine.

In the spring the Sirretts made ready to leave London. As the day drew
near for their departure Mark's manner changed, and he displayed
symptoms of restlessness and of impatience. Catherine noticed them and
asked their reason.

"I am longing to return to 'William Foster,' Kitty," he said.

She felt a sharp pain at her heart, but she only smiled and replied,

"I almost thought you had forgotten him."

"On the contrary, I have been preparing to meet him again all these
months."

His dark eyes shone as he spoke. And once again that stranger stood
before Catherine. She turned and went upstairs, saying that she must see
to her packing. But when she was alone in her bedroom she shed some
tears. That afternoon she went to Eaton Square to bid her mother
good-bye. Mrs. Ardagh was looking unhappy.

"Your father returns from Italy on Wednesday," she said. "You'll just
miss him."

"I am so sorry, mother," Catherine said.

Mrs. Ardagh looked at her in silence for a moment. Then she said in a
low voice,

"I am not."

"Mother--but why?"

"I think you are better away from him. My heart tells me so. Oh, Kitty,
I thank God every day of my life that Mark is--is such a good fellow,
without those terrible ideas and theories of your poor father. You
cannot think what I suffer."

It was the first time she had ever spoken so plainly on t